Curtain Call
by Curlz-Shadow Kitsune
Summary: Severus Snape is an enigma. His loyalties are unknown, as are his motives and his goals. Come, the curtain to the final act is rising.
1. Prologue

Prologue 

I am an actor. No, it's not my occupation, but I am an actor all the same. You've probably seen me, but only in my persona. I am the professor that stalks the halls. I am the professor that takes the points. I am the professor that everyone hates. Yes, everyone, not just the Hufflepuffs, the Ravenclaws, or the idiotic Gryffindors, but my Slytherins too. Sure, the students of my house respect me, but because one respects another doesn't mean that the first likes or is friendly with the second. The perfect example is the relationship between the werewolf, Remus Lupin, and myself. I respect him for going through monthly pain that can be comparable to being under the cruciatus for over a minute because of his…condition, that's the only reason that I even made the Wolfsbane potion for him, but I absolutely loathe the mongrel and believe that the feeling is mutual.

As I have said earlier, I am an actor. Every day, every minute, is all part of the extreme farce of a theatrical performance that is my life. My parts are the sarcastic, biased potions professor, the loyal, subservient Death Eater, and the elusive, loyal spy for the Order and Albus Dumbledore. I am none of these. And I hate every single character. True, I am naturally sarcastic and I have a deep fondness for the subtle art of potion making, which is what I share with my role as the potions professor. And, I concede that I am loyal, but only to those that manage to earn my trust, and am very elusive, my true traits that coincide with my roles as a Death Eater and spy.

As an actor, those surrounding me, including Dumbledore and the Dark Lord, see only what I want them to. The students, my old schoolmates, my fellow professors, I let no one see who I truly am. They do not see my fondness for magic in it's most basic form, others don't realize that there is no such thing as dark magic or light magic except for the silly rules that they bind themselves with. There is no light magic or dark magic; there is only power and how one chooses to use that power. Magic is also always changing, always becoming more powerful, akin to the hydra of myth growing more heads once one is cut off.1

This passion is something that I hide. I have to. Only because it would be out of character for any and all of my roles. Anything that I am fond of I have to push away, and anything that I am not fond of, I get the small pleasure of acting even more like the bastard that I am when that object comes up in conversations or if a person I loathe is in the same room. One could say that it is a guilty pleasure, but if you were in my position, then you would know that one has to take pleasure where one can find it.

I don't worry too much over my roles or my acting. I've had to act since before I was eleven. My earlier roles included the brilliant, socially stunted Slytherin student that knew more curses and hexes than even the best of the sixth year students and the solemn, distant son of a broken household. I have been an actor for longer than I can remember, but I never realized it till I met those who could utterly destroy my characters, my personas, but, fortunately that number has only counted to two. Not counting that bastard Potter when he tried to rectify his mutt's prank in my sixth year.

The first was Lily Evans, I never considered her a Potter, even after she married him. She was the only one I welcomed back stage, one could say. Our meetings were brief at best, a pass in a corridor, helping the other find a book or two in the library. Still, slowly, but surely, I began to trust her, and I found myself an ally against the pranks Potter and his subordinates had thrown at me since being sorted. I could never loathe her, but I had to insult her, belittle her, lest anyone, especially my father, discovered that I had someone even resembling a friend, and oddly enough Lily understood, accepted, and bore my harsh words with nary a complaint.

The second was the Potter twerp, hmm…twerp, haven't used that yet, I must find a time when I can call him that. Nevertheless, I absolutely loathe the brat. The only thing that would make me happier than successfully brewing a complicated potion would be if someone finally had the guts to put him in his place and give the brat more than a month's detention with me or his suspension. Before, I had held a grudge because he was just like his father in ways that even he never knew. But he had invaded my privacy, forced my character to collapse on itself into millions of pieces smaller that beetle eyes. That was an action that was unforgivable. One could say that I now had a more reasonable cause for loathing the twerp.

I am an actor; I shall remain an actor for the rest of my life. Nothing I can do or anyone else can do is able to stop this play. Nothing short of my death or the end of the world, which ever decides to come first.

1. This refers to Snape's speech in Harry's DADA class.


	2. Spinner's End

Forgot to put this in the Prologue, but I, Curlz-Kitsune, do not own anything related to Harry Potter, even though she wishes that she owned one half of the Marauders, a potions master, the oldest of the Weasley sons, and a blonde Dragon. I, Curlz-Kitsune, am also not making any money off of this, nor do I intend to, as this is only for the enjoyment of myself and for those who read this. This Disclaimer is applied to all chapters in this story and I have no wish to repeat it. CK

Chapter One

I stared into the fireplace, the embers glowing gaily, as mere memory of a once blazing fire that never was. Finally, the embers dimmed to black, leaving the only light source in my sitting room to be a single candle lighted lamp.

This house was, and still is, my father's, this dank house on Spinner's End. But the sitting room is mine. It's the only spot in the house that I consider mine. The reason is because it is where I feel most comfortable, sitting here, surrounded by books. The musty feel that is on the pages when one is opened for the first time. If there is anything good that I have to say about my father it is that he had good taste in literature, if nothing else. Some works in the collection include old copies of Les Miserables, The Picture of Dorian Grey, Leaves of Grass, and various works of Mark Twain. My favorite, The Devil's Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce, I kept miniaturized in the pocket of my frock coat at all times, just in case I need a way to divert my attention when fools and idiots are in the immediate vicinity.

I then heard a polite, if forceful, knock on the front door. My first thoughts wondered who would be calling on anyone at this hour. Most people are asleep in their beds by now. Upon opening the door a sliver, I was greeted by the sight of a blonde, pale female, one that no one would have any problem spotting in a crowd.

"Narcissa!" I said, my Death Eater persona instantly activating as I opened the door more and spotted her… companion. "What a pleasant surprise!" That would have been more pleasant if her sister had stayed at home.

"Severus, may I speak to you? It's urgent." Narcissa whispered, I could hear the fear in her voice a little too clearly, something no self-respecting Slytherin would let happen. Either way, I let her in, one because I thought it would be wise to get her in a more private location than outside the front door, and two, because it would have been against my role as a Death Eater to leave her outside.

"But of course," and of course, Bellatrix had to invite herself in also, but I was given the small pleasure of nearly closing the door on the edge of her robe.

"Snape," she greeted me in an, oh, so _elegant_ and _beautiful_ way.

"Bellatrix," was my equally _elegant_ reply, with a mocking smirk to top of my very _elegant_ greeting. I led them to the sitting room, offering Narcissa the sofa. Of course, the offer to use the sofa was opened to Bellatrix, but she didn't take it, smart woman. I took the arm chair that I had been occupying before my abrupt company came.

Our conversation continued as a conversation would when someone is imparting important information to another and also begging for assistance from the one who was listening, in this circumstance me, although it was interrupted by my abusing Wormtail, my current pseudo-servant and hexing bag, and forcing him to get elf-made wine for myself and the ladies. And after a little more conversation between Narcissa and myself, Bellatrix interrupted, snarling about how I was not high on her trust list.

"Narcissa, I think we ought to hear what Bellatrix is bursting to say; it will save tedious interruptions. Well, continue, Bellatrix," I said, suppressing a smirk. "Why is it that you don't trust me?"

The Black-Lesterange woman, if I could call her that, took her chance. "A hundred reasons! Where to start! Where were you when the Dark Lord fell? Why did you never make any attempt to find him when he vanished? What have you been doing all these years that you've lived in Dumbledore's pocket? Why did you stop the Dark Lord in procuring the Sorcerer's Stone1? Why did you not return at once when the Dark Lord was reborn? Where were you a few weeks ago when we battled to retrieve the prophecy for the Dark Lord? And why, Snape, is Harry Potter still alive, when you have had him at your mercy for five years?"

Shut your howling screamer, woman!

That is what I would have liked to say, but, unfortunately, that would have been out of character. So, instead I answered all her questions in order, after berating her for her lack of trust in the Dark Lord. And, again, while I was answering her, the bitch had to interject at every turn. I finally did snap at her, which was a very refreshing experience, and the argument turned to the events of last year in the Department of Mysteries.

Once again, Bellatrix questioned my trustworthiness by asking where I was during that encounter. I won't call it battle as how could only six teenagers be of any threat to a group of adult wizards and witches.

Finally, she asked the best question of the night, why Dumbledore has always trusted me. And, of course, I had a ready made answer. "I have played my part well," which is an understatement, I have played all three of my parts well, and it helps immensely that I am one of the best ocllumens in wizarding history. I continued, "and you overlook Dumbledore's greatest weakness: He has to believe the best of people. I spun him a tale of deepest remorse when I joined his staff, fresh from my Death Eater days, and he embraced me with open arms – though, as I say, never allowing me nearer the Dark Arts than he could help. Dumbledore has been a great wizard – oh yes, he has, the Dark Lord acknowledges it. I am pleased to say, however, that Dumbledore is growing old. The duel with the Dark Lord last month shook him. He has since sustained a serious injury because his reactions are slower than they once were. But all these years, he has never stopped trusting Severus Snape, and therein lies my great value to the dark Lord." Merlin, I wish that Albus didn't trust me that much, all it does is give me added stress which then makes my hair greasier, which it does not need to be. It is true that the man does think that just about everyone is good, but it is a fact that can, most of the time, be over looked.

I was glad that my long and slightly false, my only true allegiance is with myself, speech had finally shut up Bellatrix, so I took the opportunity to ask Narcissa what exactly she wanted help with. She stuttered for a little and got out that it was the secret plan. Shit. She wouldn't, no scratch that she would, Narcissa was very dependent on others for help. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…have I told you that this is deep shit, for this is the deepest shit that she could pull anyone into. Damn females and their crying.

I held back from speaking much for a little, as to make sure that I didn't start swearing a blue streak. Finally it got to Narcissa asking me to make the Unbreakable vow. Have I said yet that I hate seeing women crying, well thanks to Narcissa's tears I agreed to go through with the bloody stupid thing, with Bellatrix acting as our bonder. I agreed to all of Narcissa'a demands to watch over, protect, and help Draco complete his orders from the Dark Lord.

Severus, what in the bloody blue fuck have you gotten yourself into?


End file.
